Heart and Hand
by samcheerio
Summary: Three years after his famous fall, Sherlock has returned to 221b, and he's ready to reunite himself with his Watson. However, fate has other plans... rated M for suicide/death.


Sherlock was carrying several bags of groceries when he walked into 221b for the first time in three years. Looking around, it seemed generally the same. A bit dustier, if anything, but that was to be expected.

"Mrs. Hudson?" He called out. No answer. Good, that meant no one was home to disturb him. As he made his way up the stairs to the flat, Sherlock adjusted his arm so he could check his watch. 1:30. He had a good two half hours before John came home, which wasn't as much time as he had wanted, but it would have to suffice.

Shoving his way through the door, Sherlock stumbled through to the kitchen and set his bags on the counter. He frowned at it's emptiness. Normally his experiments and lab equipment would have taken up any available space. He shook his head. That was three years ago. He hadn't lived here in three years, why on earth would things be the same as when he left? John could have saved on beaker, at least…However, as he reached in and pulled a box of chocolate cake mix out of the first bag, Sherlock grinned. He would see John soon. Things could change back.

Two hours later, and the kitchen was a mess. Flour coated every surface, batter decorated the walls, and a thin layer of smoke hung above Sherlock's head. His face and shirt were covered in frosting, but he didn't mind very much. He coughed violently and fanned at the air around the oven before slamming it shut. Dear god, he thought, how do people do this as a living? Still coughing, he made his way over to the counter, all whilst casting an angry glance at the broken blender. He could buy a new one tomorrow, maybe then John wouldn't be too mad. Turning, he gazed down at his final product, which he had to say came out relatively well.

The cake was slightly lopsided, but generally smooth and without lumps. It was coated in a thin layer of white frosting, and though Sherlock wasn't the type to bake, his frosting flowers had come out brilliantly. He dipped his finger in the layer of white and brought it to lips, quickly sucking it off. He cocked his head as he tasted it, rolling it around on his tongue, then nodded in approval and turned to marvel at the cake once more. It wasn't a masterpiece, but surely John would appreciate the effort put into. He was the type to do that sort of thing. Smiling again, Sherlock thought about John's reaction to his homecoming as he put the cake into the fridge and changed into clean clothes. He would probably make some incoherent noises, perhaps faint or fall down, but that wasn't a problem. Those very human reactions amused Sherlock, and fainting meant getting to perhaps kiss him awake. Sherlock chuckled. That would only make him faint again.

After washing his face of any frosting, Sherlock waltzed into the living room and sat down in his chair. It was nice of John to keep it, even though it must have pained it to always see it empty. That was the thing Sherlock regretted most about leaving. He had hurt John. He squirmed in his chair. What if John was angry? What if he was upset with him? Quite understandable, of course, but it would make the celebration a little more uncomfortable than Sherlock wanted. Maybe he should find something else to give John, just in case…what other things do you bring to a party besides cake? Sherlock mulled it over for a bit, then gasped. Of course, why hadn't he thought of it sooner? Leaping up, Sherlock grabbed his coat off the table and swirled out the door, leaving the empty flat behind.

Sherlock walked happily down the street, the yellow balloon bobbing up and down beside him. John would love it, he just knew. Yellow was a happy color, thus conveying happy emotions that would hopefully calm down John's possible temper. Sherlock reached into his pocket for the key as he approached 221b, but saw that the door was already slightly ajar. Funny, he hadn't left it like that. He looked closer. The door had been opened and closed carelessly, as though the person didn't really give a damn whether it closed or not. Mrs. Hudson would certainly never leave the door open, think of what it would do the heating bills. John, being the gentlemen he was, always closed the door after him. Sherlock glanced at his watch. 4:15. Shit, John was home. But something…something was wrong..

Moving as fast as he possibly could, Sherlock raced up the stairs, bursting into the flat with a bang. His eyes darted around the room, searching for John's shocked face, but he saw none. In fact, John wasn't even there. Sherlock straightened his back and moved slowly towards the kitchen, scanning the room as he went. There, a stack of books knocked over, and over there, a chair fallen down. Sherlock leaned down and put the books back into place. Who ever was in here, they certainly weren't worried about the mess they were leaving. Peeking into the kitchen, he saw that it too was empty. Someone had certainly been there though.

"…Hello?" He asked slowly, not expecting any response. But then he heard it. Footsteps, coming from upstairs. A smile spread across his face. John.

Sherlock literally flew up the stairs, dragging the balloon behind him as he went. John was going to love all of this, he really was, his face was going to be _priceless!  
_He stopped just before John's door, and slowly approached, planning to surprise the normally tough-as-nails army doctor. He peered around the door frame, and there he was, John.

He was standing in front of the one window of his room, facing outside. His hands were crossed behind him, hidden in the darkness of his shadow. Sherlock couldn't help but stop to admire his physique, he certainly hadn't let himself go. Smiling, he took a step forward, only to be stopped by a word.

"Sherlock."

He froze.

"I…you…you don't know how much I've missed you."

Sherlock smiled and began to move forward again, but John kept talking.

"It's been so hard…" John sounded as though he was about to cry. "Having…to survive, in the crazy world…now that I think about it, you were the only thing that made sense…And now…" he swallowed hard, and Sherlock watched, sadness and sympathy filling his normally emotionless eyes. "We won't have to be apart any longer." Slowly John lifted one of his hands, and Sherlock stopped breathing.

John's hand shook, and his head lifted up towards the sky as he placed the gun against his temple.

"John..?" Sherlock managed to whisper. Fear, shock, absolute horror ran through him, locking every muscle. He watched wide-eyed as a finger began to gently pull on the trigger.

"I love you, Sherlock."

"JOHN!" Sherlock screamed.

The sound of the bullet firing was timed perfectly with John's spin around to face the detective. Their eyes locked, only for a moment, before the doctor fell to the floor.

Outside, a strong gust of wind whistled around the flat then back up to the clouds, but only after blowing the door shut.


End file.
